


Broken Pieces

by Amikotsu



Category: Naruto
Genre: Dark, F/M, Forbidden Love, Holidays, Love, Love/Hate, Rare Pairings, Uchiha Obito-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amikotsu/pseuds/Amikotsu
Summary: "We made contact with the shinobi from Takigakure. He sent back the heads of our members. That's two more we've lost to him. Are you even sure he's worth it?""He's worth it.""He'soneman, Obito.""I told you to stop using that name. How many times do I have to tell you this? It's Madara."Obito celebrates another new year. His plans are slowly coming together. So why does it feel like he's falling apart?
Relationships: Konan/Uchiha Obito
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rare Pair Week, Day 1  
> Festival/Holiday | The Moment Love Hits

One more day, and another year gone. Another year away from the place he'd once called home. Obito hated winter in Amegakure, when the warm rain turned cold, when water in the day quickly became ice at night. Cold enough to warrant the cloak he wore, but not as cold as Shimogakure. His plans kept him moving forward, but every trip to Konoha set him back several steps. He'd had years to get over Rin -- almost five, to be exact -- but he hadn't, and he had a feeling he never would. There was a horrible scar that no one could see, but it was there, always there, the phantom pains pushing him to continue, to liberate the world, to build a world without pain or suffering or death, where there was nothing but peace, love, and acceptance. And he was selfish for wanting that world, but no one could blame him. The world was a dark and scary place, and he'd had enough of it, but there was no escape for him. He had the Moon's Eye Plan and another year gone.

He sat on the windowsill and watched the rain slide along the glass. In the night, the village was alive with lights, the place an industrial wonderland, far advanced when compared to other hidden villages. He told himself he wasn't homesick, that he no longer had a home in the world, but he longed for large trees and the colorful buildings crammed into the residential areas. The lights filtered in through the window and lit up his orange mask, lone sharingan eye following people hurrying along the streets below. Six floors above, he pretended they were ants, that he was different from them, because he lacked a large part of himself, all centered around his heart. Sometimes he genuinely hated the world and everyone in it. Where he had once blamed individuals, he blamed the system. Village leaders were out of touch, making the same mistakes over and over again and expecting different results. The organization he ran from the shadows would soon rock the shinobi world. 

He rested the back of his head against the frame and pressed a hand against the cold glass. Another icy night ahead. There wasn't much to celebrate, not for him, but the people below him welcomed the new year. He didn't expect company -- he hated being disturbed in his down time -- but a soft knock broke his thought pattern. Eye on the door, he waited for the doorknob to turn, then he left his back against the window and faced the opening door. He didn't like Nagato, had never liked Nagato, so when he saw Konan, he tipped his head to the side and motioned with a gloved hand, welcoming her into his space. 

"We made contact with the shinobi from Takigakure. He sent back the heads of our members. That's two more we've lost to him. Are you even sure he's worth it?"

"He's worth it."

"He's _one_ man, Obito."

"I told you to stop using that name. How many times do I have to tell you this? It's Madara."

Obito narrowed his eye and she raised her chin, hands quickly turning to fists in the sleeves of her cloak. The spike of killing intent made her gasp, and he saw the moment when she missed a breath before gathering herself. She wasn't weak, and he knew that, and he hoped they never came to blows, because he wouldn't hesitate to kill her. Her emotions masked, she waited for him to say something, just as he waited for her to say something. The game went on for too long, so he resumed his previous position, dismissing her without words. Instead of leaving, she took a seat on his bed, creasing his crisp sheets. Hands on the bed, resting by her thighs, she focused on a spot on the far wall. Sometimes she tired of Nagato; sometimes she needed an escape. Why she thought he would provide her with anything she wanted or needed was beyond him. He knew he was terrible company, had been for years, ever since he disappeared to Kirigakure. They didn't need to know why, but they soon realized the reason behind his sudden departure. The bloody mist. Such a nice ring to the name. 

"That's _not_ your name," she spoke, her tone surprisingly neutral. He'd expected more bite, more sass, because he knew exactly how she reacted the moment he spoke ill of Nagato. She didn't defend herself enough. It would kill her one day, and then he would have to find someone else to play angel of the city.

"Obito is dead," Obito said, repeating words he'd said hundreds of times. She didn't listen. She was more trouble than she was worth. But the two orphans came as a pair, and though he loathed to admit it, he needed Nagato. At the strike of midnight, the cold rain ceased, like a switch being flipped. "Happy New Year, Konan."

"Happy New Year, Madara."


	2. Chapter 2

New Year's Day was surprisingly quiet and though the clouds lingered in the sky, a dark blanket over the village, the day remained dry. Families celebrated by watching the sunrise, and then they poured out of their homes to visit one of two shrines in the city, the first visit of the new year. Hatsumode, they called it. Obito had celebrated it for fourteen years, and he'd stopped. Rin's death had changed him, altered his personality, shifted his views. He didn't care about years when days meant nothing to him. But Konan liked to mingle, to hover over people she deemed _hers_ ; she liked to appear as a savior for them, a beacon of hope. He thought the people were incredibly stupid, but he let her go, because it kept the villagers on their side. Hanzo's death remained quiet, with most, if not all, believing him a paranoid recluse. Killing him was the best thing Nagato had done in years. But it was New Year's, a time for good fortune and families, so he made a note to stay inside and avoid the crowds. Unlike Konan, he didn't enjoy mingling. It wasn't time for a reveal, not yet, so he continued biding his time, waiting patiently.

Obito didn't wait for her to return; instead, he went to check up on the progress in Kirigakure. Few walked the streets, and the shrines were empty. The place reeked of hopelessness. For them, the culling continued, the war on kekkei genkai lowering the population everyday. And he thought that they deserved it, from a grudge he refused to dismiss. When he returned to Amegakure, he met with Nagato, the man preferring the moniker _Pain_ , where he meant to discuss Kakuzu. Unsurprisingly, Konan was there, waiting. 

"We need him. Is there anyone competent enough to retrieve him or do I have to do everything myself?"

"I'll go." Obito looked from Nagato to Konan, quietly sizing her up. Again, he thought it would be a shame if she died. Konan looked to Nagato, the man seeming to consider her offer. "I can handle him." Obito doubted her, and she knew it, if the harsh look she sent him meant anything. 

"Go with him," Nagato decided, eyes straying from Konan to Obito. Obito looked up, eye burning a hole through the ceiling. He told himself they needed Kakuzu. "We agreed that he'll be a good addition." Obito hated the fact that Nagato hid behind the face of Yahiko. Sometimes he wanted to strangle him. It was one of those times. 

"Alright," Obito agreed, gaze moving to Konan. He expected her to move, but she stayed for a moment, long enough to say goodbye. "Let's go. He was last seen near Kumogakure. We'll need to check with Zetsu." Obito waited for her to leave first, then he followed. 

"I don't trust him."

"It doesn't matter. We need him."

She frowned at him, silently disagreeing, so he stopped her by grabbing her elbow and shoving her against the wall in the hallway. He put his hands on both sides of her shoulders, blocking her in, trapping her there, then he leaned in. She was shorter than him, so he rested his head against hers. She tipped her head up to see him and he moved back enough to meet her eyes. She'd told him on more than one occasion that his eye unnerved her, and he couldn't blame her. Most shinobi hated the sharingan, and for good reason. She reached up to slip her fingers beneath the bottom edge of his mask, though she didn't lift it, both of them knowing that the mask stayed. They'd been closer, though they only flirted with the line. He understood her, to some extent, and she only pushed him so far. He moved his left hand to her waist and lightly squeezed. She placed her hands on his chest and then pressed against him. What they had was complicated, had been for a few years, neither of them willing to address their partnership that had somehow become something else. His hand strayed to her bottom and he squeezed again. They touched. Nothing more. Whether he wanted more or not, he didn't know. He was half there and half gone, and he knew it was the same for her.

It would be a shame if she died.


	3. Chapter 3

Hunting for a man who didn't want to be found wasn't as easy as he'd hoped. Zetsu reported several times about possible leads, but every one proved fruitless. The longer they were away from Amegakure, the more restless they became, until Obito finally gave up and found a small village in southeastern Lightning, where he found them a reasonably priced room. For several hours, while Konan slept, he sat near the window and read a history book on the founding of the village. His mind wandered to the timeline though, the dead end they'd reached. Kakuzu was an important part of the equation, even if the man had a terrible temper. Everyone had a price, and Obito knew enough about Kakuzu to know that the price was high but worth it.

Sighing, Obito folded the top right corner of his page and closed the book with a quick _snap_. He tossed the book at the bookcase, unconcerned with the fact that it bounced off the bookcase and landed on the floor. Konan awoke with a start, paper already appearing along her skin. When she looked at him, he lifted his shoulders for a shrug. New Year's was gone, had been two weeks ago, so life had returned to normal. Obito left his seat on the floor and went to sit on the bed. He'd checked in on Konoha hours ago. It was a habit, a constant itch that took hold over him. He checked in too much. He didn't belong there. But not even Zetsu knew where he disappeared to, when he didn't want to be found.

"The food arrived an hour ago. It's cold."

"You could have woken me up."

"I know."

Konan sighed at him, but she did move. She sat up on the futon, then she ran her fingers through her hair to try and loosen the tangles. The flower from beside the bed went back into her hair, and she looked presentable again, not that it was a surprise. They'd both removed their cloaks when they arrived, so Obito turned to catch another glimpse of her. She was beautiful, even if she did get on his nerves. They didn't do well together. He was mean to her, sometimes downright cruel, but that was the state of their relationship. More than working but less than intimate. In the beginning, he'd thought her fierce protectiveness over Nagato had to do with romantic feelings, but he'd learned the truth. Even if she didn't know about Rin, he knew all about Yahiko. And he knew that Danzo was involved, though he kept that to himself. He knew they would wage war on Konoha, but not yet. It wasn't time. They needed members, more competent members. The ones they had were disposable, even if Konan and Nagato didn't think so.

Obito watched her walk to the low table on the far wall and sink onto one of the cushions. She chose not to sit in seiza. The ramen was cold, but still edible, so she picked at the food. He'd finished his bowl hours ago, as evidenced by the empty bowl opposite of her. His gaze traveled from the flower in her hair to her purple locks, then down to her lips. He followed the way her tongue ran over them, the way she savored the taste, and he could imagine himself tasting her. From there, his attention moved down to the swell of her breasts, and then he noticed her attention had shifted from her ramen to him. He could have coughed to ease the tension, made up some lie, an excuse, even accused her of watching him, but he settled for them staring at one another.

"Are you going to watch me the entire time? It's irritating," she frowned, lowering her chopsticks. The food she held landed back in the bowl with a wet _plop_. "Hm. One of those times you see me but don't really see me?"

"I see you," he replied, knees brought up toward his chest enough that he could rest his arms on them. She looked down at her cold noodles, then left her chopsticks in the bowl and got to her feet. He watched her approach the futon, then sit down next to him. It was one of those times they didn't talk about again. "You're deceitful. Origami is delicate work, and you make it strong and vicious. You'll be the only female in this organization."

"You've decided it already?"

"Women become problems relatively easy."

"You're cryptic when there's no need to be cryptic. You let me infer that you're sexist, when really, on a very basic level, I bother you. I can sit here right now, and I still bother you."

Obito chose not to respond. He reached out a hand and placed it on her cheek. He couldn't feel her skin through his glove, but he still brushed his thumb over her cheek, then down to touch her lips. Eyes on him, stare intense, she pressed a kiss to his thumb, and he slowly pulled away. She took his hand in hers and began to tug at the material on his fingertips, loosening the glove, slowly tugging it off to reveal his hand. He should have scolded, maybe even hit her, but he felt her fingertips brush over the lines on his palm. When he was ten, he'd met a palm reader on a mission to Tanzaku. She'd told him that he would have a long and happy life, but looking down at the lines on his palm, at the way she traced her fingertips over his lifeline, over his heart line, he couldn't have felt more disgusted in that palm reader. She'd been wrong, and if she hadn't died of old age, he would remedy that.

"Are you going to read my palm?" She arched a brow at the question, then ceased her movements. He pressed their hand together, seeing the difference in size, the way her hand fit against his own. Some people believed love could bloom in adversity. The saying was meant to compare plum blossoms to love. He forgot where he'd heard the nonsense. And in the end, it didn't matter. "This is a bad idea."

"I already know it's a bad idea. I'm not an idiot, Obito." That name again. That fucking name that made his blood boil. He grabbed her hand and squeezed until he thought he might break bones. Though she gritted her teeth, she didn't cry out. "You're volatile at the best of times. Are you going to break my hand? Break it. We're already broken people. The only thing keeping us going is a drive for peace."

Obito slowly loosened his grip, until he could rub her hand and try to ease the burn, the phantom pressure against her bones. Volatile. Yes, maybe he was. But there were reasons. Everyday, his frustrations grew. What should have taken a few years would take more time, a decade, if they continued on at the same pace. His saintly patience fell away. Everyday, it was chipped away. She drove him mad without even trying. She pulled her hand away from his and his bare hand moved to her exposed stomach. What if life had been kinder to them? Would they have met at all? He'd tired of the rain. He told himself he'd tired of her too.


	4. Chapter 4

Six days back in Amegakure and he wanted to take his own life. Kakuzu had killed off the last three members of the organization. Even though he joined, he was just as unstable as Obito, maybe more. Nagato was surprisingly calm about the ordeal, but Konan was furious, if the beating on his door meant anything. She had tried so hard to preserve the original members of the organization, but they'd grown tired of the change in direction. They'd wanted an uprising, so Obito couldn't say he was sorry to hear the news. Kakuzu meant a dozen of the previous members. She threw open the door and marched into his room, eyes alight with such fire that he briefly considered just leaving. Konan rarely showed her anger, but when she did, she was impossible to deal with. More than likely, Nagato had pointed her in his direction and let her unravel. And she'd questioned his decision about excluding women from the organization. 

"What were you thinking bringing him into the organization? He depleted our numbers. It's going to take years to gather more members, even longer to find someone who can tolerate that man!"

"I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?"

Obito sighed and threw a kunai at her. Her razor-sharp paper met the kunai and sparks shot into the air. His kunai fell to the floor with a dull _thud_ and her paper fluttered to the floor, harmless again. The half-hearted attack had cooled her temper. She turned back to the door and slammed it, shutting them both in the room, then she sank down onto the side of his bed and frowned at the wall, mind filled with timelines and possibilities. Sometimes, she felt like the only one with common sense. Obito touched her back, then looped an arm around her waist and pulled her toward him. He let her touch him. She let him touch her. And they were so wrong for one another that somehow it became right. She sat between his legs, her back pressed against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. She'd regained control of her temper and her face became expressionless again. He hated that look on her. He'd always hated that passive look, the way she masked every single emotion. 

Her fingers dipped between the bottom edge of his mask, fingers brushing against fabric. He turned his head away from her, but he didn't stop her. She'd never asked him to remove it. Little by little, she lifted the mask, pushing it up, revealing the lower portion of his face. When she couldn't see him clearly, their positions changed. She kneeled between his legs, and he wrapped his right arm around her waist. Nagato knew what he looked like, but not her, never her. They knew his name, his old name, and he'd dismissed her as unimportant. He was wrong to do that. She revealed his face a little at a time, and he let her do it, the slow pace giving him more time to second-guess himself, but more time to accept it. When she placed the mask aside, he frowned at her, waiting for her to say something about the scars on the right side of his face; instead, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. He tasted mint, smelled mint, and though he was slow to return the kiss, he still returned it. Soft lips against his. Her hands on his cheeks. And he thought that in a different time, he could have loved her. It would have been that moment. 

He tangled his fingers in her hair, purple strands slipping between his fingers, and the kiss turned rough. He kissed her lips, then pulled her into him and their chests pressed against one another, and he finally got the chance to feel her breasts against him. He placed his lips against the side of her neck, leaving one, two, three kisses there. Her arms around him, he allowed himself to savor someone else's touch, the feel of having someone there with him, there for him. He hadn't had so much contact in years, and at nineteen, that was sad. He'd deprived himself of touch. And he had a feeling she was just as touch starved as himself.

He had the urge to shove her away and hold a conversation about Kakuzu, but he ignored the urge and tightened his hold. He felt her hand on his back. She rubbed soothing circles as they held one another. He rested his chin on her shoulder and stared out into the dark room, the bedside lamp the only light they had. The lamp didn't quite reach the window, didn't stop the shadows from lurking around the edges and corners.

He slid his hands up the back of her shirt so he could feel his skin on hers, and she paused, her hand still. Obito pulled his head back so he could see her face and she leaned in and kissed him again, desperate, hungry. And maybe that's how they would spend the rest of their lives. 

"I can't," he tried to explain. He couldn't love her. He couldn't give her anything she needed, anything she wanted. But he didn't want her to go. He'd lost so much. She kissed the rest of his words away.

"I'm not asking you." She understood. She couldn't love him. She couldn't give him anything he needed, anything he wanted. She wasn't Rin. He wasn't Yahiko.

But sometimes broken pieces could create something beautiful.


End file.
